To the Garden of Butterflies

To the butterfly garden I ran
its beckoning pulsed against the imminent sadness
of mourning and fading dreams
Its lush green vines and scattered wildflowers
a magnet to the journey of my feet
And just as I longed for and expected
when I entered there was no one there
Only the Longwing and Cloudless Sulphur
to flit on flower and autumn wind
to taste the nectar and dance again
And take with it the heaviness and suffering
endured
release it to the sky
so the sorrow would not weigh upon
so heavily
and my spirit may too
freely fly